


borealis

by hezenvengeance



Series: the light lives in all places [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Final Fantasy XIV: A Realm Reborn, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Pets, Sad times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:55:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22844410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hezenvengeance/pseuds/hezenvengeance
Summary: in the wake of the massacre at Waking Sands, Erebos struggles to compartmentalize his grief.
Series: the light lives in all places [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1648006
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	borealis

It’s been three days since the attack on the Waking Sands. There’s a voice screaming out somewhere in Erebos’s head that he should stop. Sit down, sleep, _rest_. But he can’t possibly, because then he would have to think. Think of the bodies in the halls, the stench of death and Noraxia’s small voice- 

Erebos shakes his head, resumes his half-sprint half-stagger, ignoring the burn in his legs and the tremble in his fingertips, eyes squinting against the dark of the night. The fabric won’t deliver itself, and then the priest had asked him to take purging potions to the outskirts, not to mention that young girl at the gravestones after some monster ingredient or another. There’s too much to do, too little time for him to sit and wallow. No, if he stops there’ll be no starting again. He can’t stop, can’t think, can’t dwell. Can’t slow down. He can’t remember the last time he slept, scant moments here and there where his eyes had slipped closed standing up, only to be forced awake by the memory. He feels empty and numb and crowded and overwhelmed all at once. 

He wants to go home, feels bereft and adrift down to his bones, but where even _is_ home anymore?

Is it Limsa? With Baderon, who dotes on him like the father he can’t remember, his brothers and sisters-in-arms in the Maelstrom, the Admiral and her steel-edged smile? 

Gridania? Lush green hideaways, days spent whiling away the hours with solely his own company?

The place he came from before, that lies behind a clouded fog in his mind? The past he cannot remember and never longed for, till now?

He can no longer consider the Waking Sands. It has been desecrated, defiled in his mind and heart, darkened halls and bodies and blood running rivulets down the steps. He should of been there, to stop it, to save them, surrender his own worthless hide to spare them because his life is worth no more than any others no matter what anyone says, and now the Scions are gone and so many lie dead because of him, they deserved better, _Noraxia_ deserved better, _it’s all his fault-_

There’s an insistent tug on his pant leg, and he looks down. The jackal puppy - the tiny, defiant little thing that all this time Erebos has been too hesitant to name for fear of losing him - yips twice, dark eyes shining with the starlight. He tries to take another step forward - there’s still much he’s promised to do, deliveries to make and odd ends to track down - but the puppy takes hold of his pant leg again and growls as threateningly as it can, baby fat and stubby tail notwithstanding. Ostium nudges his shoulders down, and even his Carbuncle seems to want him to stop, curling around his legs in a way that reminds him of the cats in Limsa, always trying to stop him for fish and treats, only to trip him headfirst into the bay instead. 

“Fine, you’ve all made your point,” he says, soft and hoarse and only a mite disgruntled even as his throat protests - his voice feels rusty from disuse, not daring to speak in the wake of the attack lest he lash out or break down. His entire body protests as he gingerly takes a seat on the outcrop, joints and muscles screaming from the overwork he’s put them through, unwilling to stop and rest, scared to let his thoughts take him under. Eastern Thanalan spreads out beneath him, the buildings like child’s toys, and the blanket of stars above seems to stretch forever into the distance. Warm lights wink away at the church, the soft blue glow of the Aetheryte a beacon in the dark desert. 

Death lingers here, that much is true. But so does life. 

There is a warm weight in his lap; the puppy has curled up there, and it nips at his fingers till they run comfortingly through short shorn fur. Ostium settles behind him, a warm weight at his back, and his feathers are soft as Erebos runs his hands between the barding. Carbuncle has hopped up into the empty saddle, sparkling paws digging into his shoulder to look out to the land with him. 

Erebos barely notices when the first tears come. The great void of the night has stolen his thoughts, and he feels both everything and nothing at once. Only when the puppy wriggles out from under his hands to lick at his salt-stained face do they register, and Erebos finds he can’t stop them after that. He cradles the pup to his chest and _cries_ , a thousand hurts and losses built up into one long-awaited release. Gods, how long had this been festering inside him? How long would he have been content to ignore it, to go from task to task to task without break or rest to escape it? He does not wish to know. 

The pup licks plaintively at his chin, and a great, heaving sobs wrests itself from Erebos, curling in on himself with the force of his grief. Ostium chirps softly behind him, ruffles his beak through Erebos’s hair. His Carbuncle has taken the puppy’s spot, snuggled up in a tight ball in the centre of his crossed legs. 

Erebos sniffs, trying and failing to gain some control over his emotions. Ostium and the puppy give a yip and a _kweh_ in unison, and he can’t help but interpret it as permission to stay this way. He doesn’t deserve this, unfaltering loyalty and companionship, but he gets it anyway and the thought alone is enough to bring him to fresh tears. 

He can’t bring back the dead, he knows this. Not that he wouldn’t try, given half the chance, but too little and too late, and his remiss has made corpses of his friends. No, he can’t bring them back. But he _can_ save what’s not lost yet, protect what he’s managed to keep. And those closest to him are as good a place to start as any. 

He brings the pup to eye level, laughs wetly when it licks his nose. 

“Think a name is in order, don’t you?” He gets a bark in response, and Ostium chirping into his hair. “A solid round of agreement.” His words are halting, spoken around the lump in his throat and the tears in his eyes, but the ball of brown and black fur in his hands deserves and is happy to hear them, if the furious wagging of his tail is anything to go by. 

“Well then. How do you feel about... Baderon?”

A growl.

“Suppose that’s a bit on the nose. Yes, that’s my nose, it’s very clean now, thank you. How about Thancred?”

A set of tiny teeth latch on to the tip of his nose, and Erebos yelps.

“Alright, alright! It was a joke!”

Another growl.

“I’m sorry, that was in poor taste even for me.” 

The puppy stares balefully at him, and another chuckle worms it’s way out of his throat. That he feels well enough to laugh again, when all his emotions have been mute and numb since the attack, must bode well. 

“Ah, well. Hm.” A long pause. Erebos’s eyes drift skyward, tracing the invisible lines between stars. 

“I named your brother there after an old legend,” he says softly, barely above a whisper as he inclines his head backward. Ostium _kweh_ ’s quietly in return. “After a man who rose from the ashes of two homes lost in the fires of war, who helped to bring his people back to the light. I suppose I ought to give you a legendary name too, hm?” He gets an excited yip at that, and somehow the pup's tail goes even faster. 

“Then... how about his best friend? They fled the first home together, and he d- ...He died, for the second one. A hero's death, in defense of home and hearth. How does Ulric sound, little one? Would you like to be named after a hero?”

A succession of barks meets his ears, and if there’s a way for an animal to sound jubilant he wagers the pup - no, _Ulric_ \- has just found it. 

“Ulric, Ostium and Erebos. What about you, hm? Would you like a name?” He says gently, scratching behind Carbuncle’s ears. The shimmering creature looks at him with as much derision as he’s sure it can muster, even as it leans into his touch. Erebos chuckles under his breath. “No, I suppose not. Carbuncle suits just fine.” 

The stars are just starting to fade, the ink black backdrop to the stars giving way to a deep blue. Morning is almost upon them - they’ve wasted half the night, but Erebos can’t find it in him to care, nor to get up just yet. The weight of lives lost still hangs heavy in his heart, but it’s shouldered a little easier, knowing there are constant companions to push him along or bring him to a stop as and when needed, even if he doesn’t know he needs it himself. 

Ulric sleeps in his lap again, nestled between a disgruntled Carbuncle and Ostium’s feathered head, curled around Erebos as he is. 

There’s much to do, but it will have to wait. His companions have decided he must rest, and so rest he shall. His eyes slip closed, and though his sleep is not without bad dreams, it’s the most restful he’s had in months. 

He’ll be ready to start again, afterward.


End file.
